We live~ We breathe~ We die~(sometimes we even reincarnate just to start all over again.)

We live. We breathe. We die.

we swallow creativity whole

like gulping down the horizon

the place i see

deep into your eyes

where earth meets sky.

We live. We breathe. We die.

We eat creativity like koi

swim in battled waters

all at once at peace

yet fighting for their food

the soul that feeds them.

When the world was new…

Did the pagan Gods rise from the

Earth and sky to

greet them

the sleek slender Koi

I mean

as they went on swimming by?

We live. We breathe. We die.

and if and when we are lucky

someday we will live long

enough to know the why?

Grimoire-

Grimoire-

a leather bound book

laced together

of secrecy and such

the breath of a raven

the ghost of a feather

beneath a shadow who smells

of desire.

Grimoire-

a book of secrets

passed from one generation

to the next-

stepped in ones history

a landscape of

time not forgotten

words whispered quietly

among the chosen.

Sometimes secrets are better

left quietly whispered into

the darkness part of the night

under the fullest moon

shattering secrets

casting spells

in the pale yellow lime

moonlight.

The Pathway of the Sun:

The Pathway of the Sun:

Morning arises slowly

as The pathway of the Sun

inches across the Sky,

leaving ribbons of colored streaks

which grow and expand

into a glorious blaze of Sunrise.

 

The pathway of the Sun:

Morning arises quickly

as people tumble out of

their beds, like crazed tumbleweeds.

Trying to fit into the suit

of each of their lives

as quickly as possible

to get to the places they must go to

as fast as humanly possible.

 

The pathway of the Sun:

Morning arises quietly

Nobody hears the color of light

yet it changes quite

rapidly

from a Sunrise

into Blue Skies with velvet white

frosted clouds.

 

The pathway of the Sun:

Morning dies down daily

as quick as it awakens, it breathes, it grows

into Sunshine filled days

exposed by Time & each time

the Sun fights back He only

manages to die down into

the colors of twilight and  He

gives in to the Epiphany of

Starlight.

 

The pathway of the Sun:

To rise and fall each day always,

until our time runs out.

Have you ever wondered?

What motivates the Sun,

so that he does not give up completely

and just burn out?

Tip-toe through the daisies

It’s cold here.

So then, I close my eyes

and I imagine things.

I imagine that I

can tip-toe through the daisies

which lie buried under deep snow

I imagine them bloom, and-

then I imagine them grow

into a sea

of devastation

a sea of utter raw beauty-

you would agree,

if you could just, only close your eyes

and tip-toe through the daisies-

C’mon old man winter,

I am ready for you to stop following me.

I am ready for a sea full of daisies

and the beauty they may bring

a rarity called

Spring.

An altar of belief:

An altar by belief,
stands alone in the north west corner,
of my bedroom.
it is the place onto which,
i allow my beliefs to sit.

every once in a while,
i linger there
lighting three candles,
and say my prayers,
with my heart-
not my lips.

my lips do not seem fit.
to express what my heart
longs and shouts out for;
justice, a good life, an omen
or a sign, to allow
me to practice,

the fine art of allowance and
of course self-acceptance.

magical meditations, covered in mystery.
set the stage for most of human
history.

i have an altar of belief which sits,
upon my north-west corner.
Even if my Gods and Goddesses,
are ancient fairy tales to you…

please respect my beliefs,
as I try to respect yours.
if more folks do not try;
to sway and convert the masses,

think of all the less holy wars,
that would be raging
across many a foreign land.

all it takes is a small slit opening,
into your heart,
and some peace and understanding;
for those who see the world much
differently than you do.

blessings-tidings-mote it be,
hence tied by three.